


sick with love

by escherzo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (on account of they're both drunk), Deepthroating, Drunk Sex, Emetophilia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: “Martin,” Jon says, an undeniable note of pleased fascination in his voice. “That'sdisgusting."“Iknow,” Martin moans, putting his face in his hands. “I'm so sorry.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 155
Collections: Rusty Kink





	sick with love

**Author's Note:**

> Nebulously safehouse-era, in which all generic porn is easiest! Based on this rusty_kink prompt: https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=534372&posted=1#cmt564068
> 
> The actual puking bits are very non-explicit in their details, fwiw, but if you're squicked by vomit I would probably recommend giving this one a pass.

“You are _all_ hands tonight,” Martin laughs, steering them both towards the bedroom with Jon's arms wrapped around his waist and small, warm body pressed all along his back. 

They'd been down the pub, the only one this little village has to offer, all warmth and sticky counters and the wash of bright conversational noise surrounding them. Martin's pleasantly tipsy, not quite to the point where he's tripping over his feet as he shuffles the two of them forward but enough to feel the bright flush in his cheeks and the tingling warmth all throughout him. Jon makes a humming noise into his hair and his hands slip a little lower, tucking under Martin's waistband. 

“Hey, hey,” Martin says, hands covering Jon's. “Let's get you laid down, hmm?” 

“I'm _fine_ , Martin,” Jon says, trying for his old posh affectation, but his accent starts slipping into something much gentler and more rounded when he drinks, and Martin can't help but smile. “I'm not tired.” 

“Well _I'm_ about ready to fall over, and you're stuck to me, so--” Martin shuffles them the rest of the way into the bedroom and Jon's hands worm their way a little further into his jeans, stroking over his hipbones with no particular purpose, like he's just in the mood to feel bare skin against his hands. If someone had asked Martin years back what kind of drunk he'd be, Martin would have guessed _grumpy_ , or maybe the sort to start rambling about some bit of esoteric knowledge, like he did when they all went out for ice cream, but worse. 

Of course, he'd wondered this out loud, and Tim, perched on a rickety barstool next to him, laughed outright and said, “oh no. He gets _proper_ slutty.” 

Martin choked on his drink, sputtering out a “ _what_?” and was treated to a long and rambling story about Jon's days as a researcher so explicit he thought he might get a sunburn from his face being so red for so long. He wasn't much for having people reciprocate, apparently, but a few drinks in and all he wanted to be was on his knees. 

“I was in a weird place,” Jon says, starting to work at the button of Martin's jeans. “Not that I'm not in a weird place now. I, ah. Well.” He shifts closer, until all of him is pressed right up against Martin, and Martin closes his eyes and shudders as the warmth curls through him, settling into a throb of arousal low in his belly. Jon's fingers are a little clumsy, fumbling with the button and then the zip, and Martin puts his hands over Jon's again—not to stop him, but to feel it as Jon slowly slides his zipper down. 

“You're drunk,” Martin says, his voice coming out high and cracked, and when Jon presses his lips to the back of Martin's neck Martin can feel his smile.

“You are too,” Jon says. He reaches in and cups Martin through his briefs, squeezing his cock gently, and Martin can't help but push his hips up into it. He's not hard, not yet, but he'll be getting there before too long. “Let me?”

“Okay,” Martin says, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Let me get my jeans off?”

Jon hums, contented, watching with bright, unearthly green eyes as Martin undresses, and even with time to get used to it, it still makes Martin shiver, feeling so _seen_. Knowing Jon is drinking in every inch of him as he fumbles his way out of his boxers. He sits back onto the edge of the bed, and Jon folds to his knees almost gracefully between his legs, reaching out to stroke up and down his thighs slow and lingering. Martin shudders. Jon looks good like this, like being on his knees is his natural state, face flushed and hair askew, his full lips hanging open just a little. He's still fully clothed, but that doesn't matter. 

“Let me,” Jon says again, and reaches out to wrap a hand around him before sinking down the length of his cock, slow and steady, and Martin moans, gripping the sheets tight as his cock is enveloped in that tight, slick warmth. Jon's eyes fall shut as he bobs his head, every movement sending pleasure so electric it almost hurts up Martin's spine, and the corners of his stretched mouth are upturned a little. He looks so blissfully content in the moment.

Martin pushes his hips up just a little without meaning to, wanting _more_ , wanting Jon deeper, and Jon pulls off him slow and steady, a thin trail of saliva lingering between his mouth and Martin's cock. 

“I'm sorry,” Martin manages, trying to take in a deep breath, calm himself down, and Jon shakes his head.

“It's alright. Just—bit nauseous. He swallows reflexively, making a funny little sound that sounds half like a gag. “I'll be fine.”

“Do you want to stop? I can get you some water, it's okay, I don't—don't want you to push yourself,” Martin begins, and then Jon sinks back down on him, lips meeting the fist still wrapped around Martin's cock, and Martin lets himself be lost to it, lets himself sink into the heavy, drugging pleasure of Jon's mouth slowly working over the length of his cock. The hand Jon doesn't have wrapped around the base drops to his stomach, and he massages it a little, eyes squeezing shut a little tighter, and Martin is about to make Jon stop, in case something is wrong, when Jon lets go of his cock entirely and guides Martin's hands to his hair. 

“Oh, fuck,” Martin says, voice high and shaky, and when he rolls his hips up, fucking shallowly into Jon's mouth, Jon moans, going loose and pliant. He has both hands on his stomach, and he makes an awful gagging sound when Martin lets himself go deeper, but when Martin makes to pull back he grabs Martin's hands and keeps them tight in his hair, his bright eyes going fierce and determined. Martin has seen enough of Jon's “I'm _fine,_ stop worrying” faces to know one when he sees one. He lets himself fall into a rhythm, the heat and slickness and pressure and the soft little gagging sounds Jon makes that go straight to his traitorous cock. It's so much. Heat curls up Martin's spine, and he's so close his whole body tingles with it, gripping Jon's hair tighter as he lets himself sink deep into Jon's welcoming mouth, Jon pushing forward to meet him and draw him deeper, and then Jon's eyes fly open. They're not fierce this time. They're _panicked._ Martin lets go of Jon's hair instantly, and Jon makes to pull off but it's too late. He makes that gagging sound again, louder this time, clutches at his stomach harder, and throws up all over Martin's cock.

“Oh, shit,” Martin blurts, staring down at Jon, at the mess Jon's made of him, the redness of his lips and the tears beading in the corners of his eyes. “Shit, fuck, are you okay?”

“I am _so sorry_ ,” Jon manages, voice weak and thready, and when he blinks his eyes are blurry with tears. His face has gone red. “Martin, I--”

“Hey, hey, it's alright,” Martin says, stripping off his shirt to clean himself off with and then sliding down to the floor beside Jon. He wraps his arms around Jon's small, shivering body, and Jon shudders and leans into him. “I should have – have stopped you, it's my fault.” 

Jon leans into him hard, still a teary mess, his face red and wrecked, and he makes a soft, contented noise as Martin rubs at his back. “I was the one who pushed. I was fine until I... well, until I wasn't.” 

“Are you alright now? I should get you some water, get you into bed,” Martin babbles, not sure what else to do, trying to ignore the way Jon, small and vulnerable and embarrassed, such a wreck because of _him_ , is getting to him. He's liked getting a little mean in bed before, with partners who were into that sort of thing, but Jon is genuinely upset and he tells his body sternly _now is not the time_. 

“Not—not yet,” Jon says, sniffling. “Need a moment to—to let it settle. Too hot.” He lets out a little laugh, though there's not much humor to it. “Do feel a bit better now, though.” 

“Whatever you need,” Martin says, and for a long moment he just holds Jon before Jon draws away to start working at the buttons of his own shirt, tugging it aside before tucking back in close, skin to skin, and Martin's eyes are drawn back to Jon's mouth before he can stop himself, shiny-wet with spit and—other things. Jon catches his gaze and his eyes widen. 

“Please try not to Know anything about me right now,” Martin chokes out, so fast he nearly trips over the words. 

“ _Martin_ ,” Jon says, an undeniable note of pleased fascination in his voice. “That's _disgusting._ "

“I _know,_ ” Martin moans, putting his face in his hands. “I'm so sorry.” 

“Do you want to keep going?” Jon asks, and Martin drops his hands and stares.

“ _What_?” 

Jon slips a hand between then and gives Martin's still-hard cock a squeeze. “We can try it.” 

“We can try--” Martin doesn't have the courage to finish _me fucking your face until you throw up on me again and then I get to comfort you after like it wasn't my fault_ , and his face is burning red. He's never thought about this before, but he thinks of the gagging sounds Jon made and his cock throbs in Jon's hand. Jon smiles, still blinking away tears but slipping back into something much more smug.

“Right,” Jon says. “Get back on the bed.” 

Martin shudders and obeys, leaning down to drop a quick kiss on Jon's lips before settling himself back onto the bed, and his pulse is racing as Jon settles back between his legs, moving Martin's hands back to his hair.

“You can pull a bit, if you like,” Jon says, and Martin inhales, short and sharp, and nods. 

He's not as gentle this time. Jon sinks down onto his cock, and he fucks into Jon's mouth slowly, working deeper with every press of his hips, and Jon gags again, eyes welling with tears, but he doesn't make any move to stop Martin. Its slow, achingly slow, but he pulls Jon down onto him, bit by bit, until he feels resistance against the head of his cock, and it's Jon who pushes forward, helping him slip deeper, until all at once the length of his cock is surrounded by the hot, clutching tightness of Jon's throat. Jon gags hard, trying to swallow around him. He holds Jon there, just for a moment, savoring it as Jon fights against his own body to stay and be pliant, a hole for Martin to use, and then Martin draws back and Jon retches, coughing, drawing in deep lungfuls of air. He doesn't throw up, this time. Not yet, at least.

“Still okay?” Martin asks, and Jon nods. 

“I'll tap your thigh if I think I'm about to—uh. You know,” Jon says. “I don't want to choke on it if you're too deep.” 

Martin nods and grips Jon's hair again, pulling him back down, and he pushes between Jon's reddened, wrecked lips faster, working deep with every movement of his hips, Jon's desperate gagging noises and his own moans and the loud, slick sounds filling the room and making Martin's head spin. “You're so good,” he manages, pushing Jon down until his nose is pressed to Martin's belly and his whole body shakes again. “Love you, love you like this.” 

Jon lets out a whine as Martin pulls back and lets him breathe again, and Martin is so close, but he wants--

Jon gags again, and Martin sinks deep as he does, pushing past the spasming, and Jon taps him hard on the thigh, twice. He pulls off, and Jon curls in on himself and throws up on Martin again, shaking his way through it, and the sight of it, of Jon so vulnerable, is all Martin needs to push himself over the edge. He strokes down the length of his cock once, twice, and comes all over Jon's lips and neck as Jon's eyes bead with reflexive tears. 

For a moment, they both just breathe, and then Martin reaches out for his discarded shirt and cleans himself off again before pulling Jon up onto the bed with him. Jon's breathing is calming, a little, but he's still shivering, and Martin pulls the blankets up over him, unable to look away from the mess he's made of Jon's face. 

“We should get in the bath,” Jon rasps, wrinkling his nose as he sniffs the air and takes in the sharp, acidic scent hanging heavy in it. 

“I'll run it,” Martin says, wrapping his arms around Jon and holding him close. He kisses the top of Jon's head. “And I can wash you off. Let's – let's stay here for a moment though?”

“Alright,” Jon sighs, indulgent. “Just don't fall asleep.”

“I won't,” Martin promises, and kisses him again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] sick with love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762062) by [lonelylighthousekeeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelylighthousekeeper/pseuds/lonelylighthousekeeper)




End file.
